


What Once Was Lost

by Aurellyn



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Human/Troll Society (Homestuck), Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Anxiety, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Dave is damaged, Dave's POV, Depression, Drinking, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Suicide Attempts, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Second Person, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Slow Burn, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Taxidermist - Freeform, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, mentions of abuse, soul marks, veterinarian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-15 19:10:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15419664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurellyn/pseuds/Aurellyn
Summary: You’re thirteen when it happens.January 26, 2006, at 2:14 PM.The day your soul mark disappeared.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Finally decided it was time to start a multi-chapter fic, haha!
> 
> That, and I've been in the worst damn pit of trying to find motivation. I swear, I have so many ideas but the moment I sit down to write I just lose all drive to actually write, so I'm forcing myself to push past it and using this as a way of motivating myself to get back into writing!
> 
> I've been tossing around a ton of different ideas on what to write recently, started a lot of different things that I either scrapped or put aside for the time being, but finally decided that this is the one I'll actually stick with. c: I love soulmate AUs so much and I'm really excited to explore this!
> 
> I've got no set schedule for updating, but I'm going to try to aim for once a week!

You’re thirteen when it happens.

January 26, 2006, at 2:14 PM.

The day your soul mark disappeared.

It started out as a normal Thursday. The week had gone by agonizingly slowly, as they always did for the first month after Christmas break, and frankly you were just excited for Friday to roll around so you’d be free for the weekend.

That morning had been the same as every other.

You get up, sluggishly going about your normal routine all while trying to avoid stepping on your Bro’s toes. He hates it when you get in his way, so you try your best to keep your head down and your mouth shut unless you want a strife.

You never want a strife, but you’re forced to do it when he challenges you or else he just beats the shit out of you for being a coward. It’s always been like this and even though you’re still young, you understand that this is not normal. Normal kids’ guardians don’t fight them with swords.

You’ve never told anyone, though, since that would just make Bro angry. You don’t doubt that he might even kill you. It’s fine, though. You’re used to it. It’s always been like this. It’s always been like this.

You leave the apartment at 7:30 AM, walk to school and make it there by 8:15. School might not be the greatest place for most kids, but for you it’s a sanctuary, somewhere that you feel like Bro can’t really get you. Besides, you get to see your friends at school, since you can’t bring them home, and your sister too.

Until the bell for first period rings, you dick around with your sister, Rose, and John, your best friend. You’ve been friends with him since you were seven and he was just a dorky kid with glasses way too big for his face. Back then he got bullied a lot, but you put a stop to that when you became his friend. Actually, that’s exactly _how_ it happened in the first place.

John means the world to you, and you would honestly be pretty lost without him.

The bell rings and you head to class.

The day passes slowly, lunch comes and goes, and eventually you’re in your last period. Your leg bounces restlessly and you keep drumming your fingers against your desk, staring out of the window on your right. You’d long since finished your math work-- you like math, you’re good at math-- and now you’re just waiting for the day to end in fifteen minutes.

You’d been distracted, thinking about crows when suddenly your wrist begins to itch. You frown, effectively distracted from your thoughts by it, and look at your soul mark. It’s black in color,as all soul marks are, a series of odd shapes not unlike a tribal tattoo that winds all around your forearm.

You don’t know much about your soul mark yet, most kids at your age don’t, but you’ve always been fascinated by it. Since your Bro never cares about anything involving you, you had asked your sister about it years ago.

_“Rose look at this! This just appeared on my arm like magic!”_

_“Oh, you mean your soul mark?”_

_“Soul mark? What’s that?”_

_She’d smiled at you-- she smiled a lot more when she was younger-- and tipped her head. “Everyone gets one. There’s only one soul mark in existence that matches yours, and it belongs to your soulmate.”_

_“Soulmate?”_

_“It’s the person you’re destined to fall in love with.”_

_“Ew.” Of course you had thought love was gross and stupid back then, too young to give a damn about it._

_“I think it’s fascinating. A soulmate is more than just someone you love, Dave. It’s … I guess it’s the person that you can’t live without, the person who you connect with on a level that goes well beyond natural science. Soul marks are pretty mysterious and nobody really knows everything about them.”_

_She laughed when you scrunched up your nose. “Besides, I don’t think you’ll think that way in a few years.”_

Of course she was right. You still don’t think much of your soul mark now, but in the past year or so it’s been more and more fascinating to you. You find yourself often tracing your fingers over the patterns etched into your skin, silently mapping out their shape in your mind.

You know now after some research that a soul mark’s design is not completely random, and if you look close enough you can pick out various shapes that correspond to things that are unique about your soulmate. You haven’t been able to yet identify anything about yours, but you know that eventually you will.

It really itches, wow. Huffing, you turn to look out the window and distract yourself again. It works for a few minutes. You start thinking about crows again-- they’re your favorite bird, after all--, and you’re just starting to forget that your arm is uncomfortably itchy when, just like that, a searing pain smacks you right in the chest.

You let out a loud, sharp gasp and jerk so violently in your seat that your chair falls backwards and you’re sent to the floor. It feels like there’s a rock on your chest and your arm feels like it’s been dipped into lava.

The pain is so intense, so unbelievably white-hot that your vision goes white and you scream.

Your memory is fragmented after that. You fade in and out of focus. You hear worried voices around you, feel your teacher touch your shoulder, feel your entire body jerk as you curl in on yourself.

You’re only partially aware when more adults show up and you’re somehow transported from the classroom.

You hear voices asking you questions, hear a low, horrified gasp. Someone touches your shoulder again and their voice is soft like they’re trying to comfort you but you don’t understand why.

All you can feel is a suffocating darkness. It feels like part of you is wilting, like you’re blacking out. Panic squeezes your heart like a vice and you realize pretty quickly what exactly you’re feeling. Agony, abandonment, loneliness, lost. It’s what you imagine you’d feel if John stopped being your friend, but a thousand times worse.

It’s the worst you’ve ever felt in your entire life.

Eventually you start to come back to yourself and you realize you’re sitting on a cot in the nurse’s office, hugging your legs to your chest so tightly that your arms are stiff and shaking. There’s tears streaming down your face, leaving wet streaks on your cheeks.

You sniffle, not entirely sure why you feel so … so _sad_. You don’t even know exactly what happened. The pain from before is gone, but you still feel strangely _hurt_. It takes you a minute to realize what hurts.

It’s your heart.

The door across the room opens and the nurse, a kind troll lady that everyone calls Rosa, steps in. You meet her eyes and she offers you a sad smile. “Hello, Dave.” She says, shutting the door and stepping over to your little bed, where she sits down on a chair beside you. “How are you feeling?”

“I don’t … I don’t know.” You tell her, reaching up to rub at your eyes and scrub away the last of the tears. Not that it helps, since your eyes just fill right back up with more.

Dolorosa reaches over and gently pats your knee. Her eyes are sad as she stares at you, like you’re broken. When she speaks again, her voice is soft and delicate. “Do you know what happened?”

“No.” You answer truthfully. “My arm just started to burn and …” You trail off as you lift your arm to show her, expecting there to be a literal burn. Your eyes go wide and your heart skips a beat at what you see, or rather, the lack of what you see.

It’s gone.

The black etchings that were your soul mark are gone, leaving your arm just an expanse of light brown skin.

You just stare at it. What …? Nervously, you lift your other hand to touch your wrist, as if maybe there’s something covering up your soul mark, but even though you rub at your skin nothing changes.

You start to panic a little, outright trying to dig your nails into your wrist to tear up the emptiness. It’s got to be there. It’s got to be just hidden underneath.

Rosa grabs your hands in a flash, and you try to yank them from her grip with a loud cry. You’re shaking, you’re _terrified_. Where did it go? Where is your soul mark?

“Please calm down, Dave.” She says, but she sounds sorrowful.

“Where is it?” You ask in a hurry, every word leaving your mouth dry. “Where is it? Rosa, where’s my soul mark?”

She shakes her head and loosens her grip on your wrists, but doesn’t let them go. The troll woman takes a deep breath. “Listen to me. I’ll tell you.”

You learn that day that there’s only one reason a person’s soul mark disappears.

Your soulmate died.


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get a look at Dave's life, twelve years after his soulmate's death.
> 
> He's ... not good at coping.

Your name is Dave Strider, and it’s been twelve years since your soulmate died.

You came to terms with it eventually, but it still haunts you. You feel an emptiness in your heart, a weight that settles on your shoulders and keeps your head hung from day to day.

Your teenage years were a disaster both as a result of your abusive childhood--which has left you a bit of a wreck even to this day--and losing your soulmate before ever getting the chance to meet them. It was hard watching as other kids your age started to figure out their soul marks, started to gravitate towards their soulmates and make the connections that would follow them for their lives. All while you were left in the dark like a forgotten toy.

You find it almost routine to reflect on such things while you’re at work. You work for a small taxonomy business that turns dead pets into perfect, lifelike preservations, finding a bit of a sense of peace in the idea of making permanent memory out of something that was once living. It’s truly a bit ironic, really, that you chose to do this as a profession.

You like to say that the decision was based on the fact that you’ve always found dead things to be tremendously fascinating, but a more bitter part of you knows that you chose this as a way of trying to cope with the loss of your soulmate. The idea of giving people a way to keep a deceased, loved pet close to their heart makes you feel a little less terrible about yourself.

Oftentimes when you’re working, you think about the day you lost your soul mark. The memory is a dull ache now that prickles at your heart like frost, but at least you don’t cry anymore. Whenever someone asks if you’re okay you just reply with ‘I’m fine’, not wanting to drag them into your drama. You’ve been saying you’re ‘fine’ for years, and every time you say it it tends to feel a little less true.

Quite honestly, you’re convinced that you’ll probably have a mental break sometime in your thirties, but that’s still half a decade away so you’re really not thinking too much about it.

You stand up straight from where you’d been hunched over, leaning to scrutinize your work. The latest project has been an unbelievably fluffy persian cat that belongs to some old woman, and frankly you’re having a hard time with its long as fuck fur and trying not to get it tangled. Apparently the feline used to be a showcat in its prime, and you think that the owner might appreciate the sentiment of keeping its beauty intact

Your back cracks as you stretch your arms over your head. Glancing up at the clock on the wall, you note that you’ve already stayed late; your shift ended well over an hour ago. You don’t get paid for overtime, but it’s fine. Honestly, it’s just nice to have something to do, and you know your boss appreciates the hard work anyway.

Deciding to call it a day, you clean up and put everything exactly where it’s supposed to be before clocking out and heading home.

When you open the door to your apartment, the sweet scent of apples reaches your nose and helps to soothe you. While you don’t care much for keeping the place perfectly clean, you like to burn apple-scented candles so that it always smells good,at least. “Home sweet home.” You mutter to yourself as you shut the door and kick off your shoes.

Heading into the kitchen, you head straight for the cupboard above the counter, reaching in and grabbing the first bottle you can reach. You glance at the label. Tequila. Eh, you only just bought the bottle three days ago and it’s almost empty, so you’d better go with something lighter. You swap the tequila for a bottle of white wine instead, walking over to your living room where you collapse bonelessly onto your couch.

Eating after an entire day of starving would probably be a good idea, but you’re not known for making good choices. If John didn’t come by every few days, you probably wouldn’t eat at all. Granted, you have a bad habit of eating next to nothing for several days, then just binge eating the worst garbage for an entire day. It’s a wonder you’re still as thin as you are, really.

The room is dead silent as you pull the cork on the wine and take a swig right from the bottle. Your eyes stare at the TV, studying its dark screen as if it holds the answers to the world’s greatest mysteries, and you just listen. You can hear cars driving by outside, someone passing underneath your window talking.

The world moves on, blissfully unaware of your turmoil.

You’ve only had maybe one glass worth of wine before your phone vibrates in your pocket. Part of you wants to ignore it, but there’s a huge possibility that it’s either John or Rose, both of which will chew you out next time they see you if you ignore them.

Setting the bottle down, you pull out your phone.

tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 7:54 PM

TT: Hello, Dave.  
TT: You’re off work now, I presume? I have a favor to ask of you when you get a moment.  
TG: hey rose  
TG: sup  
TT: Ah, there you are.  
TG: here i am in all my glory  
TG: im an angel rose  
TG: god gave me all his glory literally all of it  
TG: if any other poor sap were to go up to him and say ‘hey man i need some glory’ hed just say ‘sorry dude i gave it all the most glorious bastard in existence’  
TT: You might have to get a rosary and carry around a bible, dear brother. As an angel, God will want you to spread his word.  
TG: what if im mute  
TG: wow rose have a little tact  
TG: you dont just tell a mute guy to spread the word  
TG: thats so rude rose  
TT: My apologies. I promise I did not meant to offend you or your apparent lack of speech.  
TG: haha yeah okay  
TG: anyway what did you want  
TT: Well, it’s last minute but Roxy and I are going out of town on a trip to see Mother dearest. I was hoping perhaps I could talk you into babysitting Jaspers and Mutini for the two weeks we’ll be gone?  
TG: what  
TG: you hate our mom  
TG: what gives  
TT: I do, but she is ill and Roxy wants to see her. I offered to go mostly out of respect.  
TG: ugh  
TG: rose i hate cats  
TG: why would you do this to me  
TT: You hate cats but you love your dear sister and your dear sister cannot go on this trip unless she finds a catsitter.  
TT: I’ll make it worth your while.  
TG: what could you possibly have that i would want  
TT: A coupon for a year’s worth of free apple juice.  
TG: what  
TG: how the shit did you get that  
TG: do those even exist  
TG: rose tell me your secrets  
TT: If I told you, it would take all the fun out of making you wonder.  
TG: bitch  
TG: fine  
TG: ill watch your cats for you but you better give me that coupon  
TT: Oh, I will.  
TT: Roxy and I will be over tomorrow morning to drop them off.  
TG: gotcha

You sigh and toss your phone onto the cushions beside you. Great, you’ve been dragged into catsitting for an entire fortnight. You’ve never been fond of cats. Or dogs, for that matter. They like you, but you can't say the same for them. Truthfully, the only animals you like are birds. You’ve always been a bit fascinated by crows in particular, for some reason.

Glancing up at the clock on the wall, you note that it’s still early, now almost 8:20 PM. You weigh your options, either spend the night brooding and lazing about your apartment like a sad sack of shit, or go out and do something. Any by ‘do something’ you absolutely mean head to a bar or club, where you’ll inevitably attract some guy or girl with your misery and end up in bed with them.

It’s a bit pathetic, but that’s what your life has become. You’ll never know your soulmate, so you try to fill that void with one-night stands. You probably see a good dozen strangers over the course of a single month. It’s not healthy, or safe for that matter, but it’s become somewhat of an addiction at this point. It's just that when you're in those heated moments, you stop feeling so terrible for just long enough to forget the past or future, long enough to pretend that whoever you’re in bed with is your soulmate. You let your mind conjure up an image of what they might have looked like, if they were a guy or a girl, if they were fair skinned or had more tanned skin like you, if they had freckles and what color eyes they might have.

It’s the only time you actually feel some semblance of closeness with the one person who means the most to you, who you’ll never get to meet.

You heave out another sigh and haul yourself to your feet before you can change your mind. First thing’s first, though, you have to take care of one thing. Walking around without a soul mark is the easiest way to attract attention to yourself, be it pity or curiosity, and over the years you’ve come to hate people pitying you for having no soulmate.

A bitter taste like bile fils your mouth as you step into the bathroom and pull open the top drawer by the sink. You always keep at least three permanent markers in here, and it’s with a heavy heart that you pick one up, pull up the sleeve on your right arm, and uncap the marker.

For a second you just hold onto it, staring at the dark lines on your forearm. They’re not real, just drawn on so that you feel less bare, but you still feel an ache deep inside of you when you look at it.

The mark on your arm, while fake, is a perfect replica of what your soul mark used to look like. In the months just before you lost it, you began to take pictures of your forearm from all angles, almost as if you had somehow known what would happen. Whether it had been some form of premonition or just pure coincidence, you’re glad that you have something to remember and keep close to your heart now.

You’ve been drawing on your arm since you were fifteen and by this point you don’t even need a reference picture anymore. Blinking out of your reverie in order to actually draw on your arm, you take a moment to try and ease your anxiety before covering over the spots that are starting to fade. You try to do this as little as possible, mostly because it hurts to have to look at the intricate design on your arm.

There’s a reason you wear long-sleeved shirts, after all.

The moment you fix up your arm, you roll your sleeve down. You use the mirror to adjust your hair, stare at your reflection for what’s probably way too long to be normal, then you turn away and walk almost robotically to the door.

\---

An hour later finds you at a club. This particular one is for men, particularly gay men, and while you don’t come here often you know that the joint holds a reputation for anonymous hookups. Which is good, and quite frankly is just what you need.

It’s been a few days since you got a chance to get out and drown your sorrows, and you’re feeling a bit pent up. Is it bad that you’ve turned to sex with strangers as a coping mechanism? Yeah, it probably is. It’s dangerous, too, with the chance that you could contract something, but you really don’t have it in you to care.

What do you even have to lose anymore, really?

These are all thoughts in your head as you down the last of some hard drink you’d ordered, telling the bartender to ‘give you whatever they had that would fuck you up’. It’s a strong drink, for sure, strong enough that each swig has you scrunching up your nose a bit at the burn that slides easily down your throat.

For the moment you’re just scanning the crowd, not really looking for anyone in particular. You usually don’t have to do much of the actual searching anyway. For obvious reasons, you just exude this ‘I’m sad and could use some pity sex’ energy that draws people in like moths to a flame.

Sure enough, after not even twenty-five minutes of drinking and staring out into the throng of people dancing to the thundering music, a stranger slides into the seat next to you. You don’t look over at him, because even if you’re sort of a miserable wreck you still have tact and an outward persona you like to maintain.

“Hey, barkeep, toss over a Godmother.” The man next to you says smoothly, just loud enough to be heard over the music. “And a refill for my friend here.” He reaches over and taps your glass, and that’s an invitation if you’ve ever heard one.

Turning in your chair, you come face to face with someone you actually recognize. He’s got smooth, dark hair, black as night, and a pair of glasses perched on his nose. But what’s most magnetic about him, and this your remember for sure, is the way he holds his shoulders high, confident, and how he just seems so _charming._

Right, you know him. Sorta. You’ve slept with him before. When was that? A month ago? Two? Regardless, it still strikes you as funny that the guy could practically be your best friend’s brother for how similar they look. Hell, maybe they are?

“Hey man, thanks.” You offer with a nod as you try to remember his name.

He gives you a nod and a lazy wave with one hand. “Of course! Haven’t seen you around here in a while, though. What brings you back?”

You shrug, not responding until the bartender brings him his drink and refills yours. “Oh y’know,” you answer, pausing to take a sip of your newly acquired beverage. Damn, you need to know what this is. You’ve only had one glass and you’re buzzed already-- and you’ve got great alcohol tolerance. You shrug dismissively, continuing your previous train of thought. “People to see, yada yada.”

The man next to you chuckles. “Can’t say I haven’t missed seeing you around.” He says, and he flashes you this Goddamn _look_ that admittedly goes right to your core and ignites a flame. This ‘I want to take you home’ look. “You’re really easy on the eyes.”

“Guess I just couldn’t stay away.” You reply, voice low and breathy. He smirks at you, a broad, open expression that hides nothing. Not a word passes between the two of you as he holds out a hand. You take it, letting him guide you to your feet and across the dance floor towards the exit.

Your drinks sit forgotten.


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose and Roxy drop off their cats. An accident happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooof, sorry for taking so long to get this one out! My grandmother I haven't seen since I was eight made a sudden visit and my time was absorbed by her for over a week. oTL
> 
> Also RIP this chapter feels like it moved so fast but despite that I like how it came out so I'm not changing it. :P

You wake up to the sound of your phone beeping. You groan, tired and head pounding with a hangover, rolling over to bury your face in your pillow. As you do, you sluggishly try to recall the events of the night prior.

You know you went to a club, you know you took someone home. Lifting your head just enough to glance about your room, you confirm that whoever was with you during the night is gone now. What was his name? God, you really can’t remember.

Oh well.

Lying there with your blankets tangled around your legs, sprawled out across your bed, you find it easy to let your thoughts wander. There’s still a gnawing emptiness inside of you, a dark pit that can never be filled, and even though you felt pretty damn great last night, you feel like shit now.

It’s always like this. You have no soulmate, you never will, but you still always feel guilty about sleeping around. Not everyone feels that shame, since a lot of people with soulmates still sleep with others, sometimes even find love with them, but there’s just something about the idea that doesn’t sit right with you. It’s just … you feel like you’re letting your soulmate down, even if they’re not alive to judge you.

You’re dragged from your thoughts by your phone ringing. With an irritable sigh, you fumble for it and find it on the floor beside your bed. Answering the call once you see that it’s Rose, you flop back onto your pillows. “Sup?”

“I was beginning to wonder if you’d perished, brother.” Rose answers you.

“Nah.” You answer with an entirely fake but convincing chuckle. “Heroes never die.”

“If you say so. Anyhow, we’re pulling into the parking lot now. Be up shortly with the cats.”

Oh, shit, right. You agreed to watch your sisters’ cats. Ugh, how did you get roped into that again? Something about apple juice? You don’t complain, instead grunting in the affirmative. “Gotcha.” You answer, hanging up the phone in order to drag your sorry ass out of bed.

You only just managed to finish dressing yourself in clothes that don’t match at all when there’s a knock on your front door. With a wide yawn and a valiant effort to ignore your aching head, you walk from your room to let the girls in.

“Long time no see.” You say in greeting as you open the door and step aside. God, but your own voice is grating to your ears right now.

Rose hasn’t change a bit since you last saw her a few weeks ago, except maybe looking a bit nervous about the idea of going to visit your mother. The two of them never got along very well, much like your own relationship with Bro when you were a kid, but you know she still feels the need to impress the woman.

It’s strange, really. You don’t see where she’s coming from, but you’re also pretty damn sure that nobody else in the entire world had a childhood as terrible as yours. Bro was … abusive, to say the least. He’s dead now, killed in an accident, but he’s left permanent damage on you.

You tried therapy for a while, but either it didn’t work or you’re too broken for it to fix you. You lied to Rose, told her you were better, but she’s never called you out on it so maybe she bought your bluff.

Honestly, you’ve accepted everything that’s happened with Bro. You hate him, you’re glad he’s dead, but you’re not angry. You don’t have it in you to be angry, not when you’re already so damn miserable. Really? You just try not to think about him.

Distracted from Rose as Roxy steps in behind her, you give a small wave. She’s carrying two cat crates and a huge bag of supplies that she sets down after kicking your door shut and giving you a huge grin. Optimistic as always. “Morning, Davey!” She practically chirps. “You look like shit!”

“Thanks, Rox.” You reply with sarcastic gratefulness dripping from your voice. “I feel like shit. I have no idea what I drank last night.”

Your oldest sister laughs, reaching over and slinging an arm around your shoulders. Without entirely meaning to, you feel your entire body tense a fraction and anxiety flood you. Physical affection has never come easy to you, not since a lot of the time being touched led to pain at Bro’s hands, and especially not after you retreated into your shell following the revelation that your soulmate is dead.

If Roxy notices, she doesn’t comment, instead playfully scolding you. “Leave the drinking scene to the professionals, baby bro.”

“I’ll consider it.” You mutter. God, you want her to just get off of you. But you don’t ask her to because that’s not what family does, right?

“Right,” Rose says with a sharp clearing of her throat. “Well, we can’t stay. Have to be at the airport soon. I’ll send you a detailed list of instructions for Jaspers and Mutini over Pesterchum later.”

“Sure.” You reply with a nod as Rose reaches for the door again. Roxy gives you a big kiss on the cheek before letting you go--fucking finally-- and moving to follow your sister.

“Take care of them kitties, Davey. They’re my babies and I swear if you don’t treat them like royalty I will hunt you down.” She narrows her eyes playfully, a sign she’s joking. Somehow you’re pretty sure there’s still a note of seriousness in there, though.

You wave at them. “Yeah yeah, I hear you. The furballs will be fine with me.”

The two of them depart after that, and you’re left to let Jaspers and Mutini out of their cat carriers. You lean down to do so, swinging the two doors open and standing back to give them space.

Both of them are black cats and it’s hard to tell them apart at first glance, but you know the both of them well enough that you can easily spot the differences. Mutini’s tail is thinner and he’s smaller in general, and Jaspers has a bit of greying fur around his muzzle. Easy.

Ever the calm, adaptable one, Jaspers leaves his carrier first, pausing to look up at you before he turns to head off and explore. A minute later Mutini follows suit albeit more enthusiastically. You shake your head a bit. At least cats are generally quiet.

\---

It’s only the next day when you manage to fuck up tremendously.

You’re exhausted after a long shift at work, and as a result you completely forget that you have two feline friends in your apartment when you approach your door, unlock it, and swing it open. After a long as fuck day, you’re ready to just collapse onto your couch and watch a movie or some garbage.

You happen to forget that Mutini is a door dasher.

The black kitten runs right past you and out into the parking lot. “Shit!” You exclaim, slamming the door shut in the hopes of preventing Jaspers from escaping too and taking off after the feline. Roxy will fucking kill you if you lose her cat. She’ll literally never forgive you.

The kitten runs under one of the parked cars and you skid to a stop beside the vehicle, leaning down to glance under where green eyes stare at you, big and bright and mischievous. You swear the fucking cat is _laughing_ at you!

Standing up again, trying not to panic, you try to rationalize and consider how you’re going to get him out from under there. Rose left you with treats, so maybe you could just lure him out with those? You move to rush into the apartment to grab them, but no sooner do you take two steps away do you see a flash of black as the damn cat darts out from under the car …

… and heads straight for the road.

You swear time slows as you watch, horrified, as a car speeds right towards the kitten. You’re already running for the road even as Mutini’s black fur outright disappears under the car’s tires. The car keeps going, the owner apparently not giving a shit that they just hit something, and you stare at the lump of fur on the now quiet road. He’s not moving.

“Oh fuck. Oh _fuck_!” You breathe in a panic as you rush to the cat, reaching down to scoop him up. It probably would have been smarter to see how injured he was before moving him, but your priority is to get the cat out of the fucking road.

Once safely off the road, you step over to your car and set Mutini down on the hood. To your immense relief, he’s still alive. He’s breathing and making this pitiful, sad meowing sound. His fur is darker than usual with wetness around his back end, and upon further inspection you can see that his hind right leg is twisted at an unnatural angle.

Fuck.

You don’t even hesitate to scoop up the kitten again, feeling your heart clench when he yowls in pain, and get into your car. You have to get him to a vet before he either bleeds out or dies of shock.

And before you panic entirely.

As you speed towards the nearest veterinary clinic, you keep one hand on the wheel and the other on Mutini’s back, gently petting him. “You’re gonna be okay, Mutie. Just don’t die on me, oh God.”

See, this is why you can’t have pets. You have the worst luck. Death and pain follows you around like a hovering stormcloud. Shit, Roxy is going to _kill you_ if Mutini doesn’t make it. Why do things like this have to happen to you, God damn it.

You pull into the parking lot at the veterinary clinic and practically fall out of the car in your haste to get inside.

The receptionist behind the front desk jumps in surprise as you slam the front door open and stumble over. “I need-” you try but you’re out of breath.

“Goodness, Dave, what happened?” The troll before you asks before you find your words again, and despite your wild thoughts you realize that you actually know her. How could you not? She’s Rose’s soulmate and they’ve been married for three years now.

What the fuck. You had no idea she worked here. But, you suppose, that’s what you get for not taking an active interest in your sister’s life. Shaking your head to try and get your priorities straight, you motion with a jerk of your chin to Mutini in your arms.

“He slipped out before I could stop him.” You explain in a hurry. “A car came out of nowhere and hit him. He’s still alive but he’s bleeding and his leg doesn’t look right and holy shit, Kanaya, they’re gonna kill me.”

You might be panicking a little.

Kanaya’s eyes are wide, but when she speaks she sounds calm. “Take deep breaths, Dave. It’s going to be alright.” You nod, even though you don’t feel any less afraid, and let her lead you to one of the examination rooms. Thank God you seem to be the only one here right now. She takes Mutini from you, promises to get the best vet possible for this emergency, and tells you to sit tight.

You try to actually sit down on one of the chairs, but you’re admittedly really fucking nervous. You’ve never been fond of hospitals, and even a pet hospital still feels the same. It’s sterile, like alcohol and medicine, and it’s so quiet that you can’t help but feel on edge.

An hour passes before, finally, the other door that leads back into the hospital portion of the building opens. You whirl around to face who you guess is probably the vet, coming face to face with a troll about half a foot shorter than you. He’s got his head down, eyes glued to a sheet in his hand, but after a second he shuts the door and looks up.

He’s got bright red eyes that you would go as far as to describe as beautiful if you weren’t so anxious, and a scowl you’re pretty sure isn’t entirely for the specific situation.

“Give it to me straight, doc.” You say with every intention of babbling out a long string of bullshit, but you leave it there instead.

The troll narrows his bright red eyes on you, so strikingly similar to your own that you find yourself just … staring for a moment. You know adult troll eyes can be literally any color, but you’re pretty sure you’ve never seen _that_ shade of red before. When he speaks, his voice is rough and it almost sounds like every word is a growl. “He’s going to be fine.” The moment those words really register with you, you feel yourself deflating.

“Thank fucking God.” You murmur, taking a deep breath and letting it out slow.

“His leg’s broken and he’s got a gash on his side, but there doesn’t appear to be any internal damage or other fractures.” The troll goes on to tell you, reading over the sheet in his hand. “He’s a lucky cat.”

You nod a little, stunned into silence by the sheer amount of weight that’s been lifted off your shoulders. Mutini’s going to live. He’s going to be okay. Rose isn’t going to kill you. Roxy might maim you for letting her baby get injured, but you don’t need to start planning your funeral yet.

“We’ll keep him overnight.” The doctor says, grabbing your attention again. “He’s going to need a splint and he’ll be on medication for a while, too.”

“Okay.” You say, giving the troll a nod. “Uh, thanks, I guess.” Wow, way to sound professional, Dave.

The troll’s eyes narrow, and damn but he looks like he’s capable of being a literal whirlwind. You wonder if, perhaps, he's a lot less controlled when he doesn't have to be professional. “You guess." He says, a note of incredulity in his voice. "Your cat could have been killed and you ‘guess’ you’re thankful that I just happened to be here past my working hours and spend even longer making sure he didn’t die?”

You open your mouth immediately to inform him that you didn’t at all mean any disrespect, but he shakes his head. “Whatever. I’m way too fucking tired for this. Just go talk to Kanaya. She’ll tell you all the shit you need to know.” And with that he turns and disappeared back through the door.

… Did you offend him? You probably offended him. Oops.

Nonetheless, you drag your sorry ass back out of the room, heading over to the front desk where you lean forward against it and sigh. “He’s gonna be okay.” You tell her, unable to hide the way your voice cracks. You’re so fucking exhausted and you honest to God don’t want to do anything but fall into bed right now. The last thing you want is to be conversing at all. Being social drains you faster than running a marathon.

Kanaya leans back in her chair, relief flashing clear across her face. “That’s a relief.” She says softly. “I knew Karkat would save him.”

Who? Before you can open your mouth to question her, you realize it would be a really dumb question because who the fuck else would Karkat be other than the vet who you might have accidentally offended? You scowl a bit.

“Uh, is he your boss? I … Yeah, I might have sort of pissed him off?” You inform her apologetically, fully expecting disappointment but only receiving a small chuckle.

“He’ll be fine, I assure you.” She tells you. “Karkat is my boss, yes, but he’s also my moirail.”

Oh, right. Trolls have that really strange love square thing. You honestly don’t have a single fucking clue how that works with soulmates, especially since trolls are not exempt from having a soulmark. Though, to be fair, you’ve never seen a troll’s soulmark, not even Kanaya’s. Thinking of it, you glance down at her arm, covered mostly by the long-sleeved shirt she’s wearing. The very tips of her soulmark are visible around her wrist.

It hurts to see. It always hurts to look at another person’s soul mark and remember that yours … is gone. Yours is _fake_. Almost literally physically pained, you snap your eyes up and away, focusing instead on the counter in front of you. If Kanaya even noticed, she doesn’t comment, instead turning to grab a piece of paper that’s just printed from the printer next to her.

“If you could just sign this, please. It’s a form giving your consent to leave Mutini with us overnight.” She says, her tone businesslike and professional. You do as she instructs, signing your name rather numbly.

It’s been one Hell of an evening …

 

You arrive home again approaching ten at night. When you slide into your apartment, hardly cracking the door more than it needed to be for fear Jaspers might make a run for it too-- though he doesn’t-- you don’t stop to do much more than kick your shoes off.

Finding your way to your room, you take off your shades and set them on the end table, pull your shirt off, then literally collapse against your pillows. Silence surrounds you and you take a deep breath, trying to soothe your frazzled nerves. It doesn’t really help. It never does.

Rolling onto your back, you find yourself thinking back to Kanaya’s soul mark. The lines were dark against her gray skin, bold and _real_. You sigh, lifting your arm up and staring at the ink on it. The fingers of your other hand come up, gently tracing the patterns by muscle memory more than sight.

A distant, long-buried memory surfaces.

_You throw open the bathroom door, stomping up to stand in front of the wall of mirrors and row of sinks. Your fingers curl around the smooth, white porcelain as you glare daggers into your own eyes in the mirror. Tears fill them, making your vision blurry._

_You’re so tired of the way people look at you. So fucking tired of being treated like you’re fragile, like you need to be coddled. God damn it, so you lost your soulmate, so fucking what? Despite this thought, tears sting harder at your eyes and you blink furiously, even though that just makes them fall._

_Your knuckles are turning white with how hard you’re gripping the sink._

_You blink, and red momentarily morphs into a deep, dark amber._

_“What? You lost your soulmark?”_

_Your lip twitches, white teeth showing through as you glare at the mirror._

_“You’re a weak little shit anyway.”_

_Your don’t dare blink, don’t dare look away from that fucking monster of a man._

_“It’s a good thing your soulmate died. At least now she’ll never have to meet you.”_

_A ferocious snarl that sounds less than human gurgles its way up your throat and you lift one hand, fingers curling into a fist as you punch the glass mirror. It shatters on impact and sharp flashes of pain jolt up your arm where small shards have embedded themselves in your fingers. Small droplets of blood fall to land on the pure white of the sink._

_You don’t care. You whirl away from the mirror, throw down your backpack, and root around inside it with your non-bleeding hand. You’re shaking in a mixture of rage and agony as you find a sharpie and use your teeth to pull the cap off._

_Images flash before your mind, recalling vivid, midnight designs and seeing a pattern, where there is none, with your mind’s eye. The sharpie touches your skin and you let your memory guide your non-injured hand._

_You don’t think as you do this, you don’t feel, and only after several minutes do you finally pull the marker away from your arm, panting as you come down off of the anger that fueled you. You stare at your arm, at the dark marks that are there now, and a surge of various emotions go through you._

_Joy, because it’s there again. It’s_ there, _dark and bold on your arm._

_Anger and sadness, because you know it’s not real._

_Guilt, because you can never truly replicate your soulmark._

_Agony, because nothing’s truly changed._

_Your eyes fill with tears again. Your lower lip quivers and you can’t contain the gut-wrenching sob that you let out as you curl around your arm like it’s something precious that needs to be protected. ___

__That was the first time you ever drew the mark on your arm, following a nasty encounter with Bro. You had somehow managed to hide the loss of your soulmark from him for two years, to the point where you convinced yourself he just didn’t care. You had forgotten you were keeping it a secret from him. And then he found out, and he told you he was _glad_ that your soulmate would never have to meet you._ _

__You’d just been so hurt that you’d done something crazy without thinking. It turned into a thing you do often even to this day, just to avoid the questions, but it never hurts any less._ _

__Your eyes feel heavy with sadness, but most of all you just feel so _tired_. You don’t want to have to deal with this anymore. You take a deep breath, willing any suicidal thoughts to back the fuck off. It’s not the answer, you know that, but sometimes when you’re just so defeated like this … Sometimes it really gets to you._ _

__You drop your arm, roll onto your side, and bury your limb under your pillow just so you don’t have to look at it. It really hurts you to see. Closing your eyes, you pray that sleep will take you quickly so that you don’t have to think anymore._ _


End file.
